The New Mexico Territory of the United States—1860
She knew she was dying.
At first the realization had been horrifying. Now she no longer cared. She wanted only relief—relief from the blazing sun as it burned her back and legs through her shirt and pants, relief from the choking dryness of her mouth, from the scorched sand as it burned her palms and belly and cheek.
She knew she was dying. She had seen cattle that had died from heat and dehydration. Their tongues had been grotesquely protruding from their rigid corpses, black and stiff and swollen. Her own tongue felt just as thick. She could no longer swallow, there was no saliva left, and she could taste sand and grit. If only she had water.
The day seemed to get hotter. Impossibly, unbearably hotter. She moaned from the pain—a choked, whimpering sound. She wondered, through the torpid haze, how much longer it would take. She wondered what her brothers and her father would do when they found out.
And she wanted to cry for them, for their grief.
Please forgive me, she moaned silently. I never wanted to hurt you.
She loved them. They were her family. Three big strapping brothers, Luke and Mark and Little John, all close to six feet tall with the blond, blue-eyed Carter good looks. And her father. He would be in a frenzy. He had been in a frenzy since the night she had run away—that she knew without a doubt. Oh, God. To think she had been betrayed like this.
At least they would never find out the truth.
She thought she was becoming delirious. She could see Virgil as if he were really there, with her. But his face wasn’t handsome—it was ugly in rage. And she could feel the painful blow as he hit her, hear herself cry out, feel his hands, grabbing her.…
All her life she had been gloriously spoiled. Her father had raised her and her three brothers alone. They had come to the Territory ten years earlier, before it was even a part of the United States. Her father had abruptly packed them all up, she and her three brothers, when she was eight years old—and they had moved from their Tennessee farm to Tucson to start over as ranchers. That was exactly one month to the day that their mother had abandoned them all, running off with another man.
And I’m just like her, she thought miserably.
She hadn’t meant to do it, hadn’t meant to hurt her family. She was used to the adulation she got from the men in her life, whether it was her father and brothers or the townspeople, the cowboys and drifters. She wasn’t exactly vain, but it was hard not to know that she was extraordinarily beautiful—especially when everyone kept telling her so. She had seen a miniature of her mother once, who had also been known for her beauty, and Candice knew that she looked a lot like her. Oddly, that pleased her. They both had brilliantly blond hair, long, thick, and wavy, enough to stop a man in his tracks without him seeing any more. Add to that a perfectly heart-shaped face and full, rose-colored lips, a straight, delicate nose and large, almond-shaped eyes … Candice had had fifteen marriage proposals last year alone, when she’d been seventeen.
And she had accepted Virgil Kincaid’s.
No one had approved.
He was lean and dark and so very handsome. Candice had been letting men steal kisses from her for years—nothing more than a few chaste pecks, unless her suitor was really favored, and then she would allow him to brush her lips with his. She was used to the courting, the cow-eyed looks, and the awkward, endless declarations of undying love. But Virgil Kincaid took her by surprise. He was from Georgia, a planter’s second son, he said, and his courtship took her breath away. His words were honey soft and thickly Southern, he was well read, he could quote the finest poetry … and his looks weren’t cow-eyed but bright and hot. He was no awkward, bumbling teenage cowboy, stumbling over his words and his eagerness, but a handsome, well-bred Southern gentleman, one who knew how to treat a lady.
Her father, approached by Virgil, absolutely forbade the marriage.
The next night they eloped.
They rode hard day and night to make it to Fort Yuma before anyone had time to follow them. It was a wonderful adventure, exciting and romantic.…
Until Fort Yuma, where Virgil refused to marry her.